by Faye Avalon
Nirvana, she thought as the orgasm went on and on. This had to be the closest to nirvana anyone could get on this earthly plane.
With each shove inside her, Connor grunted, then he was coming too, and she could feel each frenzied release reverberate inside her.
Their gazes clashed again and held. Their breathing was unsteady, gasping.
Connor blew out a long breath through his mouth, then dropped his forehead to hers. ‘That was...some journey.’
Lola managed a smile as she reached up and brushed the back of her fingers along his stubbly jaw, her hands not quite steady. In fact, nothing about her felt steady. Her world had been rocked, shaken. ‘Destination was pretty good too.’
His gaze held hers and for an instant she glimpsed something raw and unexpected in his grey depths. Had he been as affected by what they’d just shared as she had been? Had he experienced a tumble into the unknown, a wrench away from the norm? Whatever it was disappeared beneath the flash of his grin. ‘How long before we can take the return trip? That squeezing thing you did was pretty neat.’
‘I didn’t do it right,’ Lola said, still trying to make sense of what she’d glimpsed in his eyes. ‘You came too soon afterward. Maybe I didn’t press hard enough or long enough. Done right, you’re supposed to be able to go for hours before climaxing.’
Connor’s eyebrows rose. ‘Anywhere I can press to stop you from coming so fast?’
‘It’s not so vital for women. Multiple orgasms, remember?’
‘Even so. This Tantric thing has something to recommend it. Maybe I’ll make a study of it.’
For some reason, his statement made her feel ridiculously pleased. Probably because he actually seemed serious, although she did wonder if he was just being glib. Whatever, she loved the fact that he hadn’t dismissed it as being out there or new age, and seemed willing to keep an open mind.
She wanted to tell him they could do lots more practising, but that spectre of guilt hung between them. After her revelations she doubted there’d be any kind of relationship between them, let alone one that involved experimental sex.
A hollow feeling settled in her stomach, but she wasn’t about to let it ruin what had been an amazing experience, so once more she locked it down inside her and refused to dwell on what she couldn’t have.
Connor eased away from her and rolled onto his back. He didn’t look at her as he asked, ‘Have you tried anything like this before?’
‘No. Any knowledge is theoretical.’ She rolled onto her side and hiked onto her elbow, looking down at him to gauge his reaction. ‘Although I have considered learning more about it and maybe adding it to my repertoire. I could give lessons.’
His head whipped around and the look of horror on his face was priceless, until he realised she was ribbing him.
‘Give me some time to recover and I’ll help you with a lesson plan.’
CHAPTER TEN
LOLA WOKE IN the early hours with Connor’s arm around her shoulder, her head on his chest. She hadn’t planned to stay the night again, but that Tantric session seemed to have wiped them both out.
She angled her head to look up at him and saw he was in a deep and seemingly restful sleep. The urge to wake him was strong; she couldn’t seem to get enough of being with him. But she left him to it. The quality of sleep after a massage was often the purest form of rest. Not to mention the benefits of a hefty session of good and wholesome sex.
Carefully, Lola got off the bed and, as Connor’s shirt was the nearest item of clothing, she shrugged into it, loving how his smell wrapped around her.
She fastened a couple of shirt buttons at her waist, checked the candles and oils had burned right out, then made her way to his kitchen. Interesting. His counters were clear, the whole space pristine-clean. Perhaps not unusual for a man who probably didn’t spend much time at home. Despite that he’d taken some time having coffee with her in the middle of the day, she sensed he was a workaholic, and probably spent more time travelling back and forth between his two clubs than anything else.
Lola found a glass and poured herself water. She turned and leaned back against the sink, her gaze landing on the breakfast bar in front of the large floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the capital as it came awake in the soft glow of early morning.
On the black marble counter lay a scattering of papers, and on top of the pile was a copy of what looked like the agent details for the Cabacal property. Lola walked over and picked up the document, scanning the photos and the descriptions beneath them. She stroked lovingly across the photographs of the old Art-Deco-style building, remembering visits with her mother when she was a child. Back then her grandparents had been alive and the building had housed a small exclusive cabaret club.
But Lola’s mother had always planned that when it became hers she would turn it into a fitness and wellbeing studio with the sole intention of helping people live better, healthier lives. It had caught Lola’s imagination from the start, and she’d listened with rapt attention as her mother had declared what the various rooms would be used for: the colours, the equipment, the classes she’d planned. Lola had been inspired, and from then on it had become her dream too. Until her devious uncle had changed everything.
Saddened by old memories, she placed the details back down, noticing the wad of official-looking documents off to the side.
The contract, Lola thought. For the sale of the property.
She tilted her head, trying to get a good look at the papers without actually touching them, all the while instructing herself to turn around and walk away. Was Connor in the process of reading through the document before he signed it? Wouldn’t that be done in a lawyer’s office? Why did he have the paperwork at home? Left so haphazardly on the breakfast counter? Was this just a mock-up of the real thing that Damian had sent?
Lola took a breath, then put down the glass. It wouldn’t hurt just to take a peek, would it? She wasn’t sure why she was torturing herself, but morbid fascination drove her onward. Maybe there was something in the contract, some clause, that could provide her with ammunition to persuade Connor to sell the property to her when she was in a position to buy it. Her fingers crept dangerously close to the bottom edge of the paper, but she pulled them back.
She couldn’t do it. It wasn’t right. It was intrusive, invasive and downright dishonest.
Connor had been good enough to try and help her with the properties he thought she was interested in. He’d taken her to each one and pointed out pluses and minuses. Okay, they’d punctuated their viewings with some very enjoyable back-street sex, but that wasn’t the point.
He’d been interested in helping her. Which meant that she had no business snooping. Besides, she knew what was in the contract, the terms of the agreement. Damian had told her, labouring the point: full and final sale. As if she needed reminding.
It was strange, really. Connor was obviously willing to pay an extremely competitive price for the place, yet he’d admitted to having no real plans for it, and had even considered allowing it to remain empty for the foreseeable future. He hadn’t really seemed that interested in it.
What exactly was the pull of the place for him? Why did he feel compelled to own it?
She knew how strong that compulsion could be, and although the property held wonderful memories for her she imagined Connor would rather forget what had happened to him.
As she mused about reasons, her hands found the countertop. Before she could stop herself, she nudged back the edge of the papers and flicked through them. All legal jargon, with the usual sections and clauses. No mention of intended use anywhere that she could see, but that wasn’t unusual. If Connor planned another nightclub, it wasn’t so far removed from the casino that her uncle had used it for.
Her eyes almost popped out of her head when her gaze fell on the agreed purchase price. How much? It wasn’t just over the marke
t value advertised but was more than Lola’s trust fund could cover. Her heart took a dive along with her stomach. How was she supposed to persuade Connor to sell to her at a much lower price than he had agreed to pay for it?
Disheartened, Lola let the pages fall back and straightened the contract on the counter. But beneath it was more papers. She didn’t even think about not looking now. Surely there was nothing else that could surprise her? Slowly, she drew out the remaining documents.
Pages of blue letterhead held a series of price quotations for construction work. Yes! Now she might get an idea of what Connor planned to do with the place.
The top quote was for some restructuring at the club where she’d first met him, to add a small rear patio area with lighting and outside heating.
The quote underneath made her heart stop.
To carry out demolition work at premises in south west London currently known as the Cabacal Club.
Demolition? Was he having it torn down?
Lola stared at the quote, reading every word over and over, as if she might have misread them. As if that word ‘demolition’ was actually something else. But it wasn’t. He was having the property demolished.
She couldn’t seem to swallow, couldn’t stay the nausea that swam in her stomach. For long moments she just stood there in the quiet of Connor’s kitchen, staring at the words which now blurred as her eyes went damp.
She shoved the quotes back beneath the contract and stepped away from the counter, as if doing so would make what she’d just seen disappear. She sniffed, squeezed her eyes shut as anger coated the nausea.
There was no way she would stand back and let this happen. No way she’d let him destroy that wonderful old building.
She snatched up the property details again, knowing what a travesty it would be to tear down all that old architecture, all that wonderful marble and inlaid panelling. She thought about how her great-grandfather had built the property as a testament to the love he felt for his wife. How it had stood for almost a century, through turmoil and change, only to be obliterated from the face of the earth because Connor wanted some kind of payback.
If he went ahead and tore it down, then her mother’s dreams for the property would be gone for ever, because then there was no way Lola could make them happen.
She smoothed her hand over the details again, searching for some way to convince him to change his plans and preserve the old building. If he really didn’t want it, then why couldn’t he sell it on to her? She had to talk to Connor. Had to tell him about her mother, how she’d been cheated out of the property. Maybe she could make him see that, like him, her mother had been a casualty of her uncle’s treachery. That if he allowed her to buy the Cabacal back he’d be helping her put things right.
She heard a sound behind her and turned to see Connor lazing against the door frame, his eyes languid, like a man just roused from sleep, but with an intensity in his gaze that was hard to miss.
Her first instinct was to lash out at him, demand he tell her what the hell he was thinking, demolishing such a wonderful building, but she couldn’t do that. He might, quite rightly, do some lashing out of his own. He still didn’t know who she was, or what the building meant to her. And that was down to her own cowardice in not telling him before now.
As it stood, he had every right to do what he wanted with his new purchase. But she wasn’t going to give up without a damn good fight.
* * *
Connor didn’t like how he’d woken from a deep, relaxing sleep and his first thought had been Lola. What they’d shared had been intense and unsettling. Not just the slow sex stuff, but the way she’d gotten him to open up about his past. He rarely talked about that. The last time he’d been persuaded to reveal his past, it had been used against him.
He’d learned long ago that women had their own agendas. They could wheedle every little bit of information from you and then twist it and turn it to accommodate their own desires.
Sounds from the kitchen stopped his thoughts from spiralling downward. He needed a distraction, and that meant getting Lola back to bed for some early-morning activity. He found her deep in thought and poring over some papers. His papers.
The sharp nudge of suspicion squeezed his chest. What the hell was she doing reading his personal documents?
‘Found something interesting?’
Lola started, the papers fluttering to the floor. ‘Sorry.’
She picked them up quickly, then stacked them on the counter, her eyes not meeting his. It hiked his suspicion several notches, until he realised that he’d left the property details for the Cabacal in full view, and it was probably perfectly natural she’d take a look, given she was searching for a property of her own.
Was he just being paranoid?
‘You should drink some water,’ she said, coming across and handing it to him. ‘You need to rehydrate after a massage.’
‘I know what else I need after a massage.’ He took the water, noting how her hands trembled a little. Was she unnerved because he’d startled her? Caught her snooping? He felt that poke of suspicion again, until he reasoned that this was Lola, not Caroline. Lola had always been upfront and had never given him reason not to trust her.
Yeah. He was likely being paranoid.
He placed the glass down and slipped his arms around her.
‘My shirt looks good on you.’
‘It was the nearest thing I could find.’
Although she laid her hands on his biceps, her manner was reserved, her voice tight. She didn’t meet his eyes. He frowned, placing his hand beneath her chin and coaxing her to look at him. ‘Everything okay?’
She gave a wan smile. ‘Of course. How are you feeling?’
‘Good.’ Actually, he felt more than good. He felt fucking amazing. Except he knew there was most definitely something wrong with her. Was she still concerned with his wellbeing?
He didn’t need that, or want it. He could look after himself.
From nowhere came the memory of concerned eyes looking down at him. That look had warmed all his cold parts until he’d discovered the duplicity, the treachery that could lie beneath feigned concern and the need for a scapegoat. Caroline had been an expert at deceit, making him believe she cared for him when all the time she’d been making plans behind his back to destroy him.
Shit. He needed to get his attention away from the past. Lola had stirred up things with her questions last night, and it was fucking up the good times. Good times he wasn’t quite ready to end.
That knowledge was troubling in itself, but at least he had his finger on the pulse. Had his wits about him. He knew what he was doing. And right now that meant coaxing her back to bed, enjoying some early-morning sex. And in doing so he’d put a smile back on both their faces.
He popped open the three buttons at her waist, then slipped the shirt from her shoulders.
‘The effects of your magic hands are wearing off a little. I’m thinking you should give me a refresher.’
He tossed the shirt to the floor and, wanting to demonstrate just how good his back felt, he hiked her up into his arms.
She stiffened against him, but her hands landed on his shoulders. ‘You should take care for a while. No sudden movements.’
‘Told you,’ he said as he strode back to the bedroom. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Just take things slowly for a while so you can gauge how it really is.’
‘Oh, I can do that.’ He deliberately misinterpreted her meaning, turning to the bed and taking his time lowering her down. ‘There. Slow.’
Lola sighed as he moved over her, but her demeanour felt stilted. ‘You really need to pace yourself. When you’re stressed, you don’t take the time to think things through. That’s when you can end up making snap decisions that are irreversible. It never hurts to consider things from all angles.’
He
searched his memory banks for a conversation they’d had which would make sense of what she’d just said, but found nothing. ‘No need for concern on that front. I’m a man who considers every single angle.’ Wanting to ease whatever was bothering her, he waggled his eyebrows. ‘Or hadn’t you noticed.’
‘Connor, I’m really sorry for snooping, but I couldn’t help noticing the property details on your counter.’
‘Yeah. I saw you reading them.’
She took a huge breath. ‘Are you really thinking of having that building demolished?’
He felt the punch in his solar plexus. He didn’t much care about her looking at the property details, but he certainly didn’t like the fact she’d gone through his private correspondence. It didn’t pay to let anyone think they had more of a part in your life than you were prepared to give them. And Connor wasn’t prepared to give an inch. When he gave that inch, the shit tended to hit the fan. ‘That’s my business.’
‘Like I said, I’m truly sorry, but it’s such a wonderful building.’
Not for him, it wasn’t. The sooner the place was razed to the ground, the sooner he could draw a solid line under the past and start a new chapter.
‘It’s called progress,’ he said, rolling onto his back. He felt irritated, both by her prying and by the fact she’d made him think back too much in the space of a few short hours. He’d felt too comfortable sharing things with her last night, and there was no space for that in their relationship. Their time wasn’t meant for conversation, it was meant for hot, dirty sex.
She hiked onto her side and looked down at him. ‘Progress doesn’t mean destroying what’s good about the past.’
‘Believe me, there’s nothing much good about that.’
‘That’s surely not true? Even with what you told me last night, there had to be some good things, some good memories.’
